


The Beast Within

by Shadaras



Category: Solo: A Star Wars Story (2018)
Genre: Dreams, Enemies who kiss, F/F, Fighting As Foreplay, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-07 04:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20303143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadaras/pseuds/Shadaras
Summary: Now, as you face that mask on another battlefield, you need to acknowledge what that dream has been telling you all along:There is no difference between Enfys Nest and the bloodfin her mask is modeled on. They both want to kill you. One just makes it personal.





	The Beast Within

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ambiguously](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambiguously/gifts).

> I know not everyone likes second-person, but I couldn't get the sound of this story to work any other way. I quite enjoyed your prompt, though! I hope you enjoy how I wrote it.

They melt out of the mists, blocking your convoy’s forward path. You freeze, even as your men tighten their circle around you and the refrigerated hovercart. You wish you hadn’t had to bring the cargo to the Pyke Collective by foot, but they are suspicious of having your ships near their base. You hate that they have reason to mistrust you, and hot anger boils in your gut that they didn’t provide better escort for you. You wish you weren’t on a mountainside, with so little room to maneuver; your men are good, but in rough terrain the Cloud-Riders are better.

Mostly, you wish that you didn’t remember the leader’s mask, but it has been haunting your dreams since you claimed _First Light_ for your own.

In your dreams it is a monster, cruel and laughing. Its horns are sharp, and the rusty highlights on its dark skin are fire in the bright desert sun. It charges at you, claws and teeth bared, to snap at you and buffet you with its scale-clad tail. You have nothing to protect yourself with, and you can’t move because your muscles are frozen in fear.

Most of the time in those dreams, you wake up when you die, covered in sweat that your dream convinced you was blood.

Sometimes, a freckled girl stands between you and the beast, her red hair a banner in the wind. She keeps the beast from you, but as soon as it sulks off, she turns to you and you realise that her eyes are the beast’s. She approaches you, and she puts her brown hands on your pale face as you try and stand, and you wake to the feeling of her lips on yours.

You aren’t sure if that is any better than dreaming of death, because at least dreaming of dying is familiar; dreaming of a kiss and waking to an aching pressure in your cunt is strange, and in the depths of the night you can admit that it frightens you.

But now, as you face that mask on a waking battlefield, you acknowledge what that dream has been telling you all along:

There is no difference between Enfys Nest and the bloodfin her mask is modeled on. They both want to kill you. One just makes it personal.

Enfys gestures with her electroripper staff, and the Cloud-Riders fan out around her as they all close in. You ignore her people. Your men will take them. You snap at the guards who try to close ranks around you, sending them off: You have seen Enfys fight before, and you can deal with her. She will not kill you with her first blow. She would do so to your men, given a chance.

You are good at fighting. You learned how to fight dirty as a child, and your time in Crimson Dawn simply added training to what you already knew. You ready yourself, vibroblade in hand. You dodge the first blow, ducking underneath Enfys’ electrostaff and slashing at her belly. It buzzes against Enfys’ armor, leaving a long scratch but doing no true damage.

You don’t dodge the next blow. Enfys bulls forward when you expected her to step back, and kicks you square in the ribs.

You fall.

The beast stands over you, staff pointing at your throat, and you do the only thing you can think of:

You grab it by the shaft, and pull it down next to your shoulder, close enough to scorch your hair, and shove yourself up with its weight. The beast doesn’t stop you. You don’t know if that’s surprise or desire but now you’re standing chest-to-chest and you reach around behind her neck to the mask’s release, which you know even if you only saw her use it once.

Enfys realises what you’re doing as you tear her mask off, bringing her staff back up to trap you against her. You should care about that, but you’re holding her mask and her face is just as beautiful as when you first met, even with the new scar trailing along her jawline. You laugh, and she scowls at you, but her cheeks are flushed underneath the freckles, a lovely deep brown that you want to kiss.

Enfys smiles, and for a moment you forget where you are and think that maybe she’ll kiss you anyway, but then she headbutts you and you drop her helmet onto the rocky ground. It clatters, and that rings in your ears as she throws you aside, stalking towards your cargo.

You roll onto your feet, dizzy, and launch yourself at her. She goes down under you. You don’t know why she keeps underestimating you. Maybe it’s about your dress and the jewelry you wear for precisely that reason; few people expect a lady dressed like a noble Coruscanti layabout to be able to kill them. You would have thought Enfys knew better.

But she’s under you now, and you grab at her hair, pulling her head back. She swears at you and reaches back with one gauntleted hand, scratching for your face. You press your face against her neck to block her, and bite down on her neck when she grabs your hair in turn.

Enfys stiffens, and her fingers slowly relax. “Get off me,” she hisses, the first real words you’ve heard her speak.

You don’t move. “I won’t let you take my cargo.”

“Those drugs are better off in civilian hands,” Enfys says, and you know the arguments; you made them when you were a kid stealing sedatives and stimulants from Imperials whenever you had the chance. She pauses, and when you don’t say anything and don’t move, adds, “I’m also not going to fuck you here.”

You let go and sit up, face burning. That leaves you on her ass, and that’s—not better, but now Enfys is rolling, freeing herself and unseating you. You try to regain your footing but she’s too fast. You’ve barely got your body steady on the ground before she’s on top of you, face inches from yours. Her hair forms a coiled red veil around you, blocking everyone else from sight.

You meet her eyes, and they’re the beast’s eyes, dark and unwavering. She looks at you, and you can feel all the places on your body that are going to be bruised from her armor and her hands as she presses down on you. Your nipples are tight at the thought. You suspect that when you stand, you’ll feel a wetness between your thighs, too.

Enfys smirks. She leans down, bites your lip hard enough to make you gasp and taste blood. “Maybe some other time,” she says, and then she’s kneeing you in the solar plexus as she stands up and you miss the next minute to trying to regain your breath.

By the time you recover, the Cloud-Riders are gone.

Your cargo is still there, you think. You try to shout for your men to count the vials, but it comes out as a gasp. But they count, and you should really be thinking about how to explain this to the Pykes (you will blame them; this is their territory, they should know better than to let the Cloud-Riders move freely upon it), but all you can think about is that kiss.

You are certain that you will feel it again, in your dreams.


End file.
